A Window
by Hikari Alta
Summary: This is an attempt at character development for Eric Draven and Shelly Webster. We see the two characters through the eyes of a friend.


The young woman nervously looked down at her hands as the police officer on the opposite side of the table shuffled some papers.

"I'm sorry for bothering you, Miss O'Connor. I hate to pull you out of class, but I'm having a hard time finding people who can tell me about Mr. Draven and Miss Webster."

No, that's OK." The young woman said as she shifted her eyes up from her hands and back down again.

"So, how long have you known the couple?"

"Well, I've known Shelly since she entered the Art Institute- I guess that's almost four years now. We are…were going to graduate in May. Eric- well, I guess it's been almost three years."

"What can you tell me about them?" The officer asked.

"Um, lots, I guess. Shelly is…was studying to be an artist. We were roomies in the freshman dorm. That's how we met. Shelly is…was a pretty amazing person. She had cancer when she was a kid- pretty intense stuff. I guess it was intense enough that it broke up her parents' marriage. About a year after her dad left, her mom was killed in a car accident, so she had to go live with her dad, but she always blamed him for leaving. So I guess you could say she had it rough growing up. But that just made her more determined, you know? She had big dreams, and no one was going to stand in her way."

"I see." The officer said. "Please continue."

"Shelly worked in mixed media- a lot of collages and stuff. She always had kind of a dark edge to her work. She said she had met Death as a child and made her peace with it, so she was kinda in to all that dark, gothic horror stuff. That's how she met Eric. She moved out of the dorms her Sophomore year, into an apartment… I guess the one you found her in, to be exact. We were roomies there for a while, too, but the neighborhood was too… gritty for me. So I moved out. But she loved it. The light _was_ really great. And it was close to where she was working- a club called Trash that featured a lot of punk acts. That's where she met Eric. He was playing there with his band, Hangman's Joke."

The young woman stopped, and wiped her eyes.

"They were so good together, those two. They really fit. They hit it off right away, and you could tell even then that it was going to be a long-term thing. He was dark, brooding too, but also quick with a smile, and kind of gentle. He was just crazy for Shelly. They were like some Victorian love poem.

He moved in pretty quick. Shelly stopped working at the club about a year ago, and was selling handmade jewelry- "Bella Notte" was the name of her line. Victorian, gothic-y stuff with and cameos and jet beads and silver skulls. Pretty intricate and amazing stuff, if you are in to that sort of thing. A couple of boutiques were selling it like hotcakes. So, that's how she was paying the rent, but she was still intent on being a studio artist. And Eric, well, he was totally supportive of all of it. His money came in fits and starts, like you can imagine with a band, but he was all in. Total equal partnership, which was great. And everybody loved them. Even with their wacky stuff like the Halloween wedding- everybody loved them. They were just so… unique. They loved being who they were, and they loved each other, and you just felt good around them. Heck, everything was drawn to them- stray cats, stray dogs, even a stray kid who they kind of took in. That's why… I just don't understand how this…"

She stopped, and began crying in earnest. The police officer took a worn but clean handkerchief out of his pocket, and passed it to the crying woman.

"I'm sorry, Miss O'Connor. I know this must be difficult."

"Yeah, it is. In a way, I kind of think Shelly knew she was going to go young, with the cancer thing and all. She was so vibrant and alive, but physically… well, the sickness took its toll. I think she had to work harder than she let on to keep up- she got tired easily. So, I think she knew… but not like this. I don't think anyone is ready to go like this. It's funny, because those two, being so dark and death-obsessed and all… they had picked out matching tombstones before they even got rings! It seemed so funny, so typically them, then, but now… well, I guess it came in handy, didn't it?"

"Did you know of anyone, anyone at all who might have cause to do this thing, Miss O'Connor?"

"Take a look around you- this city is being overrun by thugs. That neighborhood is a war zone. Anyone walking down the street might do you in for a dollar. That's why I got out. And on top of it all, it was Devil's Night. They take that shit real seriously around here. I'm from around Ann Arbor. They don't do this crap in Ann Arbor. If I had known what a sewer this city was, I'd have gone to U of M or State, and the Art Institute be damned."

She stopped, took a breath, and continued. "Everybody and nobody. No one in particular comes to mind."

"Did you know anything about a petition Miss Webster was circulating?" the officer asked.

"Oh, yeah. She told me about that. There were rumors that the company that owned the building she lived in was going to kick everyone out and tear it down. She loved that apartment. The light- you've got to understand- to an artist, light is everything. Those old windows were great. She had Eric build a platform in front of that big round window- her "oculus", she called it. That's where she would work. She didn't want to lose that. And she pretty much had free reign- the landlord was totally lassiez faire- she had really made it her own. So yeah, she wanted to stay. Why is that important?"

"I'm not sure that it is, Miss O'Connor. I'm just trying to cover all of the bases. What do you know about Mr. Draven's band?"

"Hangman's Joke. Industrial metal-meets-punk. Not exactly mainstream, but they had a following. They had an album out on a local indie label. I don't know that they would ever go mainstream, but that really wasn't their point. They were all pretty tight- no artistic differences that I knew of. The band would come over, jam at the apartment sometimes. I was there for a couple of the sessions. They had a really good energy. And they seemed to really like to play together. They were all dark and punk, but really, they were just kids, like anyone else their age. They joked around, had fun. Eric was a really solid guitarist and vocalist. If he ever wanted to go mainstream, I think he could. But he was really into what they were about, so he wasn't looking for breaks."

"Did you know of any drug use on Mr. Draven's or Miss Webster's part?"

The young woman shook her head and laughed.

"Drugs? Hell no. Shelly couldn't do crap like that. Like I said, her health was fragile. She barely even drank alcohol- just a glass of wine with a special meal, or something. And Eric? He just didn't see the need. They were artists. Their art- and their love for each other- that was their "drug". I know that neighborhood is swimming in drugs, but they were never a part of that scene."

"And finances? You mentioned Miss Webster's jewelry. Had she taken out any loans?"

"Not that I know of, but she probably didn't tell me everything. The jewelry was a side thing that ended up taking off, so I don't think she had a lot invested in it. I know she was excited- a local gallery had shown interest in some of her studio pieces, and she was going to put them out there to sell. She was really pleased that her "legitimate" art career seemed to be moving forward. Like I said, Eric's money was inconsistent, but he always chipped in what he had. They weren't making it big, but I think they were getting by OK."

"What about her father? And Mr. Draven's parents?"

"Shelly's dad was out of the picture- by her request. When she left home, she severed all ties. She was in school on scholarships, loans, and grants, and what she made at Trash, and later the jewelry. He is a middle-management guy at GM, so he has money- she just doesn't want it. Eric's parents- well, I don't know much. They aren't local. I'm not sure if they are even still around. He never really talked about his childhood around me."

The police officer flipped a page in his notebook. "Tell me about the child who stayed with them, Sarah something?"

"Yeah, Sarah. I think her last name is Jenks or Jenkins, or something. I don't really know. Her mom's a local druggie, works at some dive bar down the street. Shelly found her sleeping in the stairwell to her building because her mom had locked her out of the apartment by accident. She used to live in the same building, but they got kicked out for not paying rent. I'm not sure where they live now. Somewhere in the area still, I'm sure. Sarah's just a typical street kid- pretty skittish around adults, keeps to herself, old before her time."

"Do you know how old she really is? Sarah, I mean."

"Twelve, thirteen maybe? I don't really know for sure."

The police officer stared at his notebook for a minute before flipping the cover back in place.

"Thank you, Miss O'Connor. You have been very helpful. I'll be in touch if we have any more questions."

"Do… do you think you'll ever catch who did this?" the young woman asked hesitantly.

The police officer looked out the window for a moment before replying.

"We'll do all that we can. If you can think of anything else helpful, please give me a call. Here is my card." He said as he offered her a small white paper rectangle from the breast pocket of his shirt.

She took the card and shoved it in her pocket.

"Yeah, sure. I guess wanting justice served is probably too much to ask in a case like this."

The officer stood.

"Maybe, but I wouldn't give up hope just yet. Justice is a funny thing- when you least expect it, when all hope seems lost, things sometimes just fall into place."


End file.
